


Killer Rose

by Eliyah_de_Dark312



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliyah_de_Dark312/pseuds/Eliyah_de_Dark312
Summary: Feeling spooky, and with an unhealthy soft spot for everyone's favorite Fallout artist, I wrote a quick thing. Might add to it later, idk





	Killer Rose

She wore red the first time he saw her. Well, not exactly. Her deep blue vault suit was stained red with the blood of recently killed raiders, but that's close enough. It brought out the blue of her eyes, the pink of her lips, the shine of her hair. She held her assault rifle like a mother holds a child, like a soldier holds a friend.  
She spoke three words to him. Words soft and sweet and gentle and the complete opposite of how she looked.  
"Are you okay?"  
"I would ask the same of you," he said as he noted the cut of her cheek that mixed her blood with the mongrels.  
She touched it, her eyes wide at the stinging sensation he knew it would have. "Didn't notice..." She said quietly.  
He smiled. What a wonderful woman he had before him. "They would've killed me if you hadn't arrived just in time." Always polite, he took her hand in his own and bowed. "You have my gratitude, Miss..." He let his sentence trail off, dark eyes glinting at the beauty.  
"Rose."  
"Miss Rose." He rolled the name off his tongue. It fit her. A vision of loveliness guarded by bloody thorns. "I'm indebted to you."  
She blushed, a color lighter than the blood yet so much more wonderful. "There's no need, sir. I would've done it anyway." Those game-like eyes hardened as she looked over the bodies. "Raider trash like them deserve fates worse than death." The gleam of history flashed in those eyes. A history of pain, violence, blood.  
Was this love? It most certainly could be, he mused.  
The perfect woman must receive the perfect gift.  
He reached for his suit's breast pocket. A key, which he kept hidden from all others, was his target. He turned her slender hand over and pressed the cold metal into her palm. "Let me repay you," He said.  
She opened her mouth, an argument already prepared, but he silenced her. "I cant bear the thought of not thanking you in a meaningful way. You're allowing me to continue with my work. I only ask you let me give you this."  
Those pink lips curled up, and her eyes softened. "Thank you." Her voice had a soft, almost surprised tone to it. What was there to be surprised at? Generosity and reciprocation were rare, yes, but they should never be this uncommon.  
"If you visit my house again, look deep within my painting 'Picnic for Stanley' and you will find my gratitude." He wanted to say so much more. Learn about about his Killer Rose. Perhaps make her something to remember him by. Paint her something in Slab's blood? But there wasn't time. The Gallery needed to be cleared out, and her gift needed to be placed in the safe. "See you around, Killer," He said with a smile. She chuckled.  
She left first. Pickman had other ways of getting back up to his gallery. He'd beat her there by leagues, drop his favorite knife and a blood soaked note. The pieces on the wall stayed behind. She would take 'A Picnic for Stanley' with her, leaving behind a few hundred caps and a note of her own.  
"Thanks for everything," it said.


End file.
